TIM ALONE SEEMED TO PRESERVE IIIS PRESENCE OF MIND. HIS MOTHER LAY PRONE UPON THE FLOOR, WHILE HE SEEMED EXAMINING AN OLD STOCKING, FROM WHICH HE DREW A FEW PIECES OF MONEY; THE CHILDREN WERE CRYING, AND FURTIVELY BOLTING LUMPS OF SUGAR. FOR THE POOR BREAKFAST STILL STOOD THERE IN DISORDER. SO YOU ON A LETTER. "did not love me, and cannot love." So you lied, poor child, when you sang that burden. Where was the use? It is pain enough To have in place of my love-my pardon! The light you supposed your lamp was shedding, In your rarest days you have only been And as on the void in a violin, My bow has played on your empty heart. If the air was sweet, 'tis nothing to you- MY SUBSTITUTE'S FAMILY. WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blown over our blessed land, I was not insensible to the calls of patriotism. I encouraged all my brothers to enter the army, and subscribed liberally to a flag which was presented to a certain colonel in our town. When I saw our regiments proudly marching through the streets with drums beating and flags waving, I felt the fire kindle in my breast. "I too am an American citizen," I said, and I hurried home VOL. XXVII., No. 2-6 full of generous enthusiasm. "Maria Jane," I said to my wife, "do you know that I am oppressed by a solemn duty?" "Do tell," said she, languidly, going on with some sort of fancy work she had in hand. "Maria Jane," I said, solemnly, "this is not the time for self-pleasing-this is a perilous and tremendous moment. "We are living, we are dwelling In a strange and wondrous time; In an age on ages telling, To be living is sublime.'"' This was a quotation which I had used with telling effect the night before; but somehow it had lost its power. "I know the price of worsted has gone up wonderfully," said my wife. "My dear," I said, putting it tenderly, "dear as are the ties that unite us, there is a call-" "Now, don't talk to me about calls. I shan't stir out this blessed day," answered my wife, settling herself to the work of putting in a little dog's eye with pink worsted. "I would only say," I went on, feeling obliged to come to the point at once, "that I can no longer be deaf to this in ward monitor Oh, yes; this is the end, is it," she said, "of promising at the altar to love and cherish ?" Then the symptoms increased, till strong hysterics finished up the scene. But I do not intend to entertain the reader with my domestic happiness. I will merely say that I did not enlist at that time. Then came the draft. My business was in a complicated state, my wife in really delicate health. I looked around hastily for a substitute. All sorts of objects presented themselves-old, worn-out men, squint-eyed men, cripples, invalids with consumption stamped on their pallid faces; my very sleep was haunted by the creatures like nightmares. At last a tall, strapping fellow, six feet high, with a red face, crisp black hair, and a stump of a pipe between his teeth, presented himself. "Yer honor," he said, "an' it's Oirland that makes the thrue pathriots, ye know. Sure O'Connor and me wur bussim frins; an' it's often he say to me, say he, 'O'Grady, it's only the opportunity ye want iv makin' "A snug little sum of money," I interrupted. "Well, my man, here's a chance for you. You can put up a nice little sum for your family. I suppose you've got a family-every Irishman has." "Yes, yer honor, ten in them-childer, I mane.' "And fighting for a country that's worth doing battle for; you feel it an honor, I dare say, to fight for your adopted country, the land that's taken you in and been a mother to you." "That's thrue for ye," he said. "And what was the nate little sum you was mentionin'?" "Well, for a strong, fine-looking fellow like yourself, I would give a thousand dollars!" O'Grady removed the stump of pipe, solemnly. "Is it at a paltry thousand ye'd be settin' the valley on the head iv the father iv a family? Arrah, be the powers an' ye hould me life chape! Isn't it worth as much as yer own, or any murtherin' Saxon among ye? Shall I lave me childer fatherless orphings for that same? No! be the blood iv all the O'Gradys, me life's all I got, an' I'll sell it dear!"' The fellow looked so really belligerent that I expected he would knock me down with one of my own chairs. "A splendid fellow for fighting," I thought. "I am really conferring a benefit on my country in sending him. He is twice as strong, twice as hardy, twice as savage as I should be." So we closed the bargain at twelve hundred dollars; but I went first to see that the naturalization papers were all right, and to have the matter legally arranged. As we came out of the office, I saw a stalwart young fellow who looked as if he had bloomed so very luxuriantly into adolescence that he was bursting through his clothes. He had a rakish hat set on his short auburn locks, a tight red vest, and a soiled yellow silk necktie. "Hullo, dad!" he cried; "been in, and won?" I felt a little uncomfortable at these words. If dad had won, I wondered who had lost. "Here, yer honor, is my humble abode,” said O'Grady, with the air of a person throwing open castle gates, pointing to a dirty staircase that led up over a beer saloon. "Never mind," I said, hastily; "another day; I will notice the number, and will sometimes look in to see if the family are well." "Ah, yer honor, let me inthroduce me childer to ye-a bloomin' lot, like the flowers of May. This way, sir; take care of the broken step!"' A fragrance, unlike the flowers of May, pervaded the room whose door he opened. Children seemed swarming everywhere; a baby in the doorway was choking itself with a red worsted sock, a woman stood washing, and two boys were sailing sticks in the puddles of soap suds on the floor; two others were riding chairs noisily about the room. At sight of us, the children swarmed together, the woman wiped her arms, and turned a careworn face toward us. I "Sure it's a good day for ye," O'Grady said, gayly. "There's money to the fore. Yis, I'm goin', acushla! to fight for the best land (savin' ould Oirland) that the sun iver shone on. feel meself a pathriot this day. The blood iv the O'Gradys is a-warmin' in me veins; an' be the powers! but thim Sutherns 'ill have the powtherin' at my hands. Here's the gintleman, Biddy, as 'ill do the honest thing by ye all; he'll have a care of ye, machree, an' see that the childer get on." I felt myself rather astounded at the amount of responsibility to be imposed on me, as I had considered my liability ended when I paid the money. I bowed, however, and said I hoped all would go well with Mrs. O'Grady and the very blooming family I saw about her. "An' if he's killed, sir?" said the woman, anxiously. "If," I said, slowly, a coldness creeping through my veins, "if anything serious happens, I promise to do what I can for you; but you must carefully invest the money you now have; it will be a little fortune to you if you use it aright." The woman cast an inquiring look at her husband, but met no answering glance. I went home, feeling a little new weight upon my mind, as if I had suddenly inherited a very large family. I saw the troops march away with a sinking heart. My substitute nodded gayly to me from the ranks. He looked fine in his new uniform, his tall form towering above the rest. "Have I the right, I wonder, to send that man to his death, perhaps?" I thought, gloomily. "Shall I not take up every paper with trembling hand, for fear I shall see his name among the killed? Can one buy safety in this way. Oh, Maria Jane !" A touch on my arm aroused me. A pretty Irish girl stood near. "If ye plase, sir, me mother's in the greatest distress."' I looked wonderingly at the girl. "It's me mother, sir, as has clean fainted dead away in yon house. Sure she's kilt intirely wid grief at me father's "Your father?" I asked. "Me father-Mr. O'Grady as is gone to fight for ye," the girl answered, rather indignant at my obtuseness. "This way, sir," with a commanding air. "The eldest son, Tim," said my substitute, introducing me with a proud air. "This, Tim, is the gintleman I've been ac-goin'." commodatin'. He'll be a father to ye, Tim, whin I'm far away. A glass o' likker, sir, wouldn't be amiss on this tryin' occasion." I handed out some small change, which was received with many voluble thanks. I looked at Tim with an uncomfortable sensation. The young fellow was not more than seventeen, but looked as though he was ripe for a shindy of any sort. A promising charge my substitute had left me. "What do you do for a living, Tim?" I asked. "I-oh-I hang around. I'm going to be an orator." "A what?" I asked, not believing that I heard aright. "Yes, an orator," said his father, seriously, "in the political line. He's a-waitin' now to see which is the winnin' side; then he'll go in with the blood iv the O'Gradys an' the eloquence iv the O'Flahertys to help him. The fire that's in the boy, ye wouldn't belave. He quite floors his mother and me wid his arguments." "I followed, like a lamb, into a small cake shop. A group of sympathizing females stood around Mrs. O'Grady. "Here's the good gentleman himself," cried one. "A drop ov something warm, sir, if you please, for the poor dear. Here, Tim, bad luck to ye, run an' bring yer mother a bit o' punch, hot, wid plenty o' lemon; nothin' like it for raisin' the spirits, as I've found meself many's the time." Tim was on hand; so were all the children, who set up unearthly yells at the sight of their mother's grief, and were only to be quieted by unlimited cakes, to be bought so conveniently. I left them, smeared with cakes and tears, and their mother comfortably sipping hot punch. I felt relieved when I stepped He looked quite able to floor one with his fists also, I thought, out into the air again. but I made no remark. "What a dreadful thing it is to have a substitute with a wife and ten children!" I said to myself, as I hurried away, glad to | thrue blue,' says he, 'as every thrue Irishman ought to be,' sez put distance between myself and the O'Gradys. At the corner of the street I heard a loud voice singing: "I'm not over fond o' wurruk— 'Tis the way wid all the O'Gradys; But I'd make an illegant Turk, Becase I'm so fond o' the ladies." he; 'an' it's a traitor that ud turn his coat.' An', sir, I guv him such a rap wid me shillelay that I found meself lyin' in the middle of the strate; an' in fact I guv him the blue batin', as I won't get over this two weeks." "He always wor the spirited boy, sir," said his mother, wiping her eyes and drawing near. "But, oh, Tim, yer spiled for It was Tim's voice-Tim's, the never-do-well-which seemed life. Yer face is like a huckleberry pudding. Oh, sir! it's a to follow me even to my house-door. weary life I has wid a houseful o' children, and no man to the It was a bleak December day, two months later. The clouds were full of snow. Sleet and rain drove through the air as I took my homeward way. It was the first anniversary of our wedding; a few friends were invited. I had a pretty little pre-band's pay and the interest on that twelve hundred dollars.” sent for my Maria Jane in my pocket-a set of coral in a handsome case. I was hurrying along out of the driving sleet, which sent its sharp arrows through the air, thinking of firelight, and festive hours, and the bright rooms, and my Maria Jane in her sunniest humor, when I was tapped on the shoulder. "Mr. Joshua Groves, is it?" said a policeman. I felt conscious of no crime, yet I had a very unpleasant sensation under the fifth rib, where my heart beat like a prisoner assaulting the bars. "That is my name," I answered, angrily. "No offense, sir-none intended," answered the man, politely; "but a young chap as were took up to-day said as how he wor sartin sure ye'd go bail for him." "Oh, Teddy's not the man to crimp hisself," answered the woman. "Sorra bit of the money do I see; an' as for his substitute money, sure he put it into an ile stock as 'ill bring in oceans some day, but not a drop comes yet. An' two childer's got the measles, sir, bad; and Rosey's got a lover as is only waitin' till that ile stock goes up, an' is ready to marry her this minute if there's money enough to the fore." Here the good lady looked at me with a hopeful air. But I was not ready to dower Rosey, and I felt equally reluctant to liberate Tim. "And why did you suppose that I should go bail for you, sir ?" I asked Master Tim, sternly. "Oh! ye'll not turn agin him, an' the father gone!" cried Mrs. O'Grady, melting again into tears. "I can't leave him "Wot young chap, is it? Oh, a young cove as is allers in here an' me babies a-cryin' for me at home. Oh, sure ye'll be trouble, a wild clip-Tim O'Grady by name." marciful to him, sir, and may the holy Virgin and all the saints "Am I always to be persecuted by these O'Gradys ?" I make yer bed soft in heaven! Arrah, I'm that faint ye might thought. "I have nothing to do with the young pickle," I said. "If he's taken up, I've no doubt he richly deserves it, and it will keep him out of mischief for a while." All the time, a wild wind was careering about my head, and tearing at my wrappings, and blowing off my hat, while the sharp needles of sleet pierced my skin. I turned to move on, but the man persevered. "The audacious young cove don't deserve nothing," said he, as a prison's too good for him; but his poor mother, sir, she's bin there, a-cryin' like blazes, an' the father's a-fightin' for the country, sir." Ah! a pang smote my heart; those words decided me; I knew the festive lamps were lighted for me; I knew Maria Jane's sunshine would be vailed in clouds at my delay; but I must go. Holding my hat on with one hand, I turned and faced the fury of the elements. We found Tim awaiting us in a hopeful state. He had counted on certain help from me. His mother was still near him, wailing after the true Irish fashion. "Here's the young reprobate," cried my guide, "while his face is one mass of bruises, as you see." stick a pin inter me an' it wudn't draw blood." I looked at my watch. The time had flown fast, and I knew my fev select guests were assembled, and the host not there. I could see my Maria Jane's clouded face. Alas! there was no help for me. I paid the amount of bail, saw the mother radiant with joy, and Tim executing a war-dance like an exceedingly bloated young savage, while I hurried out once more through storm and sleet to my home. Yes, the lamps were lighted, and a friendly glow streamed "You never suspected anything, eh?" "A little wild." "Never. I thought him one of the solid men." "Ah, there's no knowing in these days of varnish and veneer. I don't half believe it; but a person told me that he'd been Tim had certainly not improved his appearance in this adven-seen in odd company once or twice lately. Don't mention it, ture. He was a blurred and distorted caricature. His under however." lip was the size of a potato, one cheek in hue like a boiled tomato. "What have you been doing, sir?" I asked, sternly; "and how dare you expect that I will assist you in your indecent brawls?" "Sir," answered he, with all the dignity possible to such a swollen countenance, and a mild reproach expressed in the one eye which was not bunged up, "I've bin a-sufferin' in my country's cause. Some folks go out to the battle, sir; but others, yer honor, like yerself and me, must defend our hearths and homes." "Not for the world. Ah !" I felt like braining the fellow with my bootjack, but had no time to do it. I was hurrying on my dresscoat when Maria Jane rushed up-stairs in blue silk and a very blue humor. "Our wedding-night, Joshua, and you forgot it; I know you did-don't tell me no. Oh, that I should live to see this day!" and a shower of tears deluged her best handkerchief-regardless. "Maria Jane," I said, "by all that's dear to both, I assure you that I have thought of nothing else all day. I have here a little token that I did not forget that evening a year ago when I suppose this was quoted from some speech which Tim had you made me- Tim descended from his stilts, and condescended to explain. "Plase yer honor, I wor a-walkin' along the strate, peaceable, not thinkin' o' nothin', and Terence O'Leary-which he isn't descinded of the great O'Learys-as is a spalpeen, sir, and his cousin's son's brother-in-law is own cousin to me mother, sir, and I'd not be takin' the words from him; and Pat Riley, he come along, and sez he, Pitch in,' sez he-' he's a Dimocrat, " Maria Jane raised her fair head, wiped her eyes on the point lace daintily, and looked expectant. I put my hand in my pocket, I rushed to my overcoat, I turned every pocket inside out—in vain. The case was gonemy wedding-gift was not to be found. "It is lost-stolen!" I said. "Ah! what?" asked Maria Jane, incredulously. "A lovely set of coral," I said, and I went into a hurried explanation about the O'Gradys. AFFECTING DEATH OF MRS. CROSS, AT TONGATABU, ON THE REEFS.- 1 more desolate than ever. Children mounted on the rusty stove, which was without fire; children under the table, tracing maps in a puddle; children crying, shouting, whistling children everywhere. A profound pity took possession of me for the poor woman who was forced to live in such a scene, and I listened patiently to her directions, which were rather unintelligible. "The house fornenst ye, on the Lynn road, wid the brown fence, an' the sign swingin' out, wid a red horse on it; sure ye know that, sir." I had been very little over that road, but thought I could recall it. "Well, it isn't that, sir; but ye'll go on by that, and take the lift-hand road, after ye lave the stile; an' the nixt turn is forminst Widow Brady's farm, which ye don't take, but the right-hand road by the little yellow school, sir; and then-" But I need not go on with the route. I gathered the faint clue from her direction that the gallant young carpenter had intimated to a friend something of the intended journey, and I set out, not very sanguine of success, or well pleased with my errand. But first I had to take a run home, and explain matters to Maria Jane. "Oh, yes; it's all very well to put off everything on those O'Gradys," she said, pouting. "When you want a lark for a few days without the incumbrance of your poor wife, the O'Grady's are very handy.' I can assure the reader that I had never given my wife the least ground for doubting my word; but my Maria Jane did not possess a confiding disposition. I could not argue the point then, but dropped the discussion, and with a few clothes in my carpet-bag, hurried to the office, hired a horse and wagon, and started over a very muddy road after the fugitives. That horse must have received some terrible fright in his colthood, for he seemed to live in a fearful state of apprehension. He started at every stone as if it were an elephant; he shied, he heaved; in fact, he possessed every accomplishment pos Maria Jane gave a few faint sniffs, but said nothing to con- | sible to prevent peaceable traveling. He turned his head once, sole me. and eyed me with a scrutinizing glance. He measured his man, "Could it be that young scapegrace, Tim ?" I wondered. and knew my capacity as a driver at once; then he was master. Angry, excited, and in no mood for enjoyment, I went down- He pranced over the rough places, he executed a war-dance stairs. A cloud rested on the festive scene, and I heard after-down-hill, he stopped at the taverns with the accuracy of an old ward that it was rumored from that night that Mr. and Mrs. Groves lived very unhappily together, and had a lively tiff on the very anniversary of their wedding. The coral set never was found, and to this day Maria Jane is incredulous about it. I was very busy in my office one morning, when the clerk entered with the announcement that a female wanted to see me, and won't take No for an answer." A woman in a snuffy dress and pinched bonnet pressed close behind him. Her tear-stained face displayed the plain and wellknown features I had learned to dread. toper, till, at last, shaken up over a great boulder that lay in the way, I was pitched head first into a pile of stones, and for some time forgot my substitute's family and my own. "Here! howld the head up a bit," said a manly voice; "an' ef ye could pour a drap of the whisky in his mouth. A gentleman he is, sir, as ye can see by the broadcloth and the rale gowld watch.' I opened my eyes with a whizzing through my ears, as if some of the machinery were out of order. Where was I? In a room of some village inn, I imagined. That man who held the whisky was the landlord. A young fellow stood near "Well, Mrs. O'Grady, what's up now?" I said, impatiently. me, half raising me with his arm. "Oh, sir, Rosey's gone!" "Gone! Where?" "Run away, sir, with her lover, sir, as is a wild young chap, but a master hand at the thrade, sir; a carpenter, an' been a-waitin for something to turn up." "Well, what have I got to do with it?" I asked. "Oh, sir, the disgrace iv it!-an' me not knowin' if she's lawfully married; an' I'd folly her on fut but for the childer, an' her father ud go to the ends iv the airth to see the rights iv it, an' he's not here; more's the pity." "I don't see what I can do," I said, turning to the pile of work that lay before me. "My time is worth gold to me now." "But me darter's good name is worth more than gold," said the woman, with dignity; "as never an O'Grady or an O'Flaherty disgraced herself yet; an' I made sure ye'd help me, sir, whin I stand alone in the wurruld, and me man away." What could I do but submit to fate. I laid aside the pressing work, and followed the poor woman to her home, which looked "There, now, ye're all right. Bad luck to the ill-mannered baste that ye druv! sure I know him, sir, and the Angel Gabriel couldn't drive him, an' he a-jumpin' at ivery stick an' stone as if he'd met a wagon-load of monkeys with their tails burnt off." I tried to move, but found every limb aching, and my head filled with a sound like a hundred spinning wheels. "Oh! lie still, sir," said the young man, good-naturedly. "We'll take the best care of ye. The landlord here is the best of fellows, and it's meself an' Rosey 'ill wait on you." "Rosey?" I asked, faintly, with a dim connection of the name with my adventure. "Who is she?" A pretty-looking Irish girl now came forward. "Rosey O'Grady as was," said the young man, looking at her fondly. "Oh, then, it's all right," I answered, with the truth dawning on me. "You're married." "Av coorse," answered he, proudly. "Mrs. Rooney is now at your sarvice."' The young girl blushed so prettily that, although I felt every limb thrill with pain, I could not be very severe. I began to feel very uncomfortable under these remarks. I saw a prospect of an Irish mob, and I hurried to press some "Well, young people," I said, "you ought to take good money into Mrs. O'Grady's hands, and to whisper a promise of care of me, for I suffer all this through your folly." They looked astounded; but Rosey examined me a moment. "Oh, sir! I see now who it is; it's the kind gentleman, John, as has been so good to us; an', oh! me poor mother, sir. I never ought to have done it"--and she burst into tears-"an' ye to have come to the ill luck on account ov my ill doins'!" "Rosey, never say it was ill done," said her lover and husband, "or I'll think ye repint it. Sure ye don't repint it, Rosey?" And the tears vanished from that April face, and sunshine and love illuminated it instead; but the racking pains in my bones prevented my fully enjoying this love Idyl. They took the best of care of me, however, and in three days John Rooney himself drove me back to town, where I had to pay a round sum for injuries done to horse and wagon. "I never thought you'd take to fast driving and fast ways," sobbed my wife, when she detected the green and blue bruises on my visage. "Your Grecian nose is all bumped up into a Roman one-a regular eagle's beak you've got now, my dear." So, with the milk of human kindness, she anointed my wounds. "There," said my wife, with a petulant, injured air, pushing the morning paper toward me a few days afterward. "Now you'll be bringing the whole family here, I suppose." I held the paper carelessly, not taking in the meaning of her words, and cast my eye on its columns. Fate pointed out these words: "Killed on picket duty, March 25th, Terence O'Grady, private." "My God!" I exclaimed, "can you read those words unmoved? I feel as if I had murdered the man!" future help. Then I made my way out. I shrank from facing the distress of the poor family again, but I sent them money from time to time, and I felt ever a weight upon my spirits, a darkness in the air, a strange, inexpressible sense of having caused great misery, and of being a selfish dog. Soon after, our victorious arms brought peace. Banners waved once more-shivered, ragged standards some were, bearing tokens of many a well-fought field. Straggling were the regiments that marched through our town; many a familiar face was missing-many tearful eyes looked sadly at the returning brave, where the dear one was not seen. But as I sadly mused and looked, a well-known figure, towering above the rest, caught my eye. The crisp, black hair was closely cut, the face swarthier than ever, and somewhat battered in its general effect, but there was my old substitute, Terence O'Grady! I could not resist stepping forward and seizing his hard hand. "Safe and sound!" I cried. "Is it possible?" "Sure and did ye think I'd be lavin' me body in Suthern sile, where I couldn't be waked dacently," he said, with a wink, "and not a drop of dacent whisky to be had?" "But you were reported killed," I said, "and I've been pensioning your family. You never wrote lately.' "Sure Biddy knew that if I was killed, I'd a-been the first to have writ the bad news, that she might have put on the dacent black," he said, not a bit more serious. "Arrah, now, sir, it's pisined I've been with the bad atin' an' drinking; but I'm ready to drink yer honor's health this minit.' I gave the fellow some money, and went with him to take a look at the rejoicing family. Tim seemed rather silent. I thought his oratorical powers failed him. "Tim," I asked, "who could have put that death in the Some one, you know, who would make mone" out of The whole air seemed to darken about me. I could not paper? breathe. it ?" "I must go and see those poor people," I said, starting up, and leaving my breakfast untasted. "Think of it, Maria Jane -through me that poor woman is a widow!" "Well," she said, with a petulant half sob, "I suppose I'd better be a widow. You'd rather see that, you hard-hearted man-wouldn't you?" "I'm afraid I shall never live to see that," I said, angrily, as I shut the door, and hurried on my way. But the bad news traveled even faster than I did. Dire confusion prevailed at the O'Grady's. Tim alone seemed to preserve his presence of mind. His mother lay prone upon the floor, while he seemed examining an old stocking, from which he drew a few pieces of money; the children were crying, and furtively bolting lumps of sugar, for the poor breakfast still stood there in disorder. "Sure I said that same to mother whin she read it," said Tim, with great assurance. "Sez I, Mother, there's the gentleman as father's guv his life for as 'ill never see us in want.' An' ef ye'd plaze, sir, to inthrust a five-dollar note in me hands, I'd go out wid pleasure and attind to iverything." But I paid no attention to Tim's modest request. I raised the poor woman to the wretched bed that stood in the room, and saw that she was not in a swoon. She had only given way to a wild burst of grief, and now moaned more quietly. The neighbors began to flock in, having heard the news, with much sympathy, and black looks at me, and mutterings as of a coming storm. "Oh, ah! sure the poor Irish is only good for food for powther, while the gintleman stays at home at his aise." "Sure he'd as well be shot as poor O'Grady, as never harmed a haporth-an' the ten childer. Och hone!" "An' it's a murtherer he is, sure," said a fierce-faced woman, pressing near me; "an' it's the same intirely." He colored up to his fair auburn locks, and then I knew that it had been a ruse, originated and carried out exclusively by the ingenious Tim. So, leaving O'Grady surrounded by his blooming children and half unbelieving wife, I took farewell. with a feeling of relief, of My Substitute's Family COSTUMES OF THE OLDEN TIMES. WE here give a correct representation, taken from illuminated manuscripts of that time, of the dress of a lady of rank and child in the reign of Richard III., of England, and on page 113 a picture of an Italian gentleman a century earlier. Richard III. was killed at the Battle of Bosworth in 1485. nearly |